Lawn chair, you never really impressed me. You always looked so cute hanging out in people’s backyards, enticing hot girls with skimpy bikinis to sit on you. But really, you are the reason why summer parties are incredibly uncomfortable for me. Because of you, my butt has never felt more ashamed than when it stuck to you.
I understand, lawn chair, that you come in many varieties that aren’t always so terrible, vintage types that I have been so attracted to and almost purchased because of your manipulative nature in the summer heat when I have wanted so badly to tan my ghostly skin. Case in point, the 1950s lawn chairs with the silly woven designs or the 1930s metal variety that comes in popsicle-like pastel colors. However, SITTING on these “adorable” summer accessories is an entirely different experience than just looking at them. My bestie once thought she successfully made over her dirty back patio with these ridonkulous chairs but once she sat in them, she suddenly become sweaty in the thigh area. When I tested them out, the woven chairs created a pool of sweat around my under carriage and the metal chairs made my thighs stick, burning them as though they were neglected chicken wings!
Of course, lawn chair, you may say you’re harmless. You may say that people take you on outings to summer movies at the park, or to lines at Disneyland where they patiently wait for rides to open up. You may say that you are useful at the beach, especially as a folding chair where one could insert a beverage into your arm, but really you are so cumbersome to carry in the sand that I want to throw you into the ocean and watch you get eaten by a shark! I’d rather sit on a dirty towel than sit on YOU!
I know, lawn chair, that there is a potential to actually lay on you versus just sitting on you but there was much involved when I attempted to do this. I couldn’t just rest my bikinied body directly on you. I had to first lay a towel out on the chair but once I did that, the towel kept slipping off. Then, while laying on the lawn chair, my back stuck to the chair and I felt myself developing backne. To avoid an expensive dermatological visit, I turned over onto my belly. But once I did that, my frontal area was covered in creases and lines from the chair. I mean, there’s really no way to enjoy you comfortably, lawn chair. You’re like the wedding ring that I didn’t sign up for, the koi fish my grandmother gave me for good luck that I forget to keep feeding, the high-end bikini that keeps riding up my butt. You’re everything I can’t stand for. I mean, look at you! Are you a gyno exam table?!
I look forward to the time when they redesign you, lawn chair. You need to be made with better materials – perhaps non-heat-absorbent fabrics, lighter non-heat-absorbent metals, just all non-heat-absorbent related things that won’t make me sweat, stick to you and get backne. That’s just not how a summer should be spent. Not a partying summer, at least. And I, lawn chair, am pleased to say, I DON’T need YOU to party. Not now, at least.